


Touch/Starved 🐾🥺

by murderlight



Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: After an unfortunate incident at the shop, Urahara thinks Grimmjow needs some social conditioning. Thank god Ichigo is right there to take care of it.Grimmjow strongly disagrees, until he doesn't.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903105
Comments: 149
Kudos: 1272





	Touch/Starved 🐾🥺

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, [Liv](https://twitter.com/LivRay25) instantly killed the twitter grimmichi fandom recently with her art, so I thought I'd answer the happiness her works gave me with an itty bitty ficlet. [Based on this piece of loveliness](https://twitter.com/LivRay25/status/1292209337600036865?s=20), I apologise in advance if I butchered the original sentiment but I simply could not resist.

“Help me, Kurosaki-san,” Urahara said breathlessly. His hands were clasped together as though in prayer. “You’re my only hope.”

“Pass.” Ichigo didn’t pause in bagging his own candy while Ururu rang up the total. Yuzu was avoiding the shop after her latest ethics class, afraid she was engaging in morally corrupt activity by letting Jinta discount her purchases so heavily. It would all be fine and good if every time this happened Ichigo didn’t end up being blindsided by Urahara’s latest crazy request. “Also, you need the whole hairstyle and dress if you’re going to quote Star Wars at me. It’s a lazy effort, Urahara.”

“I’m working on short notice here!” Urahara actually looked kind of offended. “Besides, I honestly do need your help. Grimmjow is getting completely out of hand. He simply must be socialised in order to continue living here.” That gave Ichigo some pause, a few awful scenarios flashing through his mind.

“You mean like, toilet trained and stuff?”

“No, we’re pretty sure he knows where to pee,” Ururu said glumly, handing him his change. “But he’s supposed to stay here when he brings in a new load of things from Las Noches for Kisuke-san to catalogue, and he’s…not very pleasant.”

“Pleasant and Grimmjow are two words that don’t really go together, you know.” Ichigo could personally attest to that. It had been three years since the quincy war and every time they crossed paths, Grimmjow would enjoy telling him in great detail about his latest post-battle victory fantasy. Last time it had been peeling Ichigo’s fingernails off one by one to make them into a necklace, the sick bastard. “I refuse to believe this has come as a shock to any of you.” Pocketing his change, he grabbed the paper bag with a one handed wave. “Bye.”

Urahara wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer.

“Unacceptable!” he cried. Snatching the bag out of Ichigo’s hands, the mad asshole ran into the house, kicking his geta off as he went.

“Oh, for—” As Ururu shrugged helplessly, Ichigo ripped off his sneakers and ran after him into the house. “Give me my shit back!”

Urahara did not give his shit back. What resulted was a truly embarrassing game of solo keep-away in which they ran circuits around the small table in the living area, while Urahara pleaded his case and ducked Ichigo’s desperate grabs for Yuzu’s candy.

“You’re the only one who can gain any traction with him! You know it’s true!”

“I don’t care!” Ichigo yelled, fruitlessly swiping across the table. Urahara was surprisingly agile in bare feet. “I don’t even know what you expect me to do! Talk him for walks?”

“Of course not,” Urahara replied breathlessly, changing direction when Ichigo did. “I just want him to stop biting Tessai-san and learn to share the dinner table. He has a truly spectacular personal space issue. Very predatory and territorial! Which is why it’s your help I want. You have the highest chance of success!”

It was pretty telling that Urahara didn’t disclose what his calculated odds actually were. Slowing down, Ichigo felt himself being pulled down another rabbit hole of stupidity. If he refused and something happened to Ururu or Jinta, would it be his fault? Or was Urahara just bullshitting him for laughs? Grimmjow was kind of feral, but he wasn’t some dumb animal.

“He’s not going to listen to me,” Ichigo said, shaking his head. “He’s always talking about killing me. You want me to finally give him a reason to try for real?”

“Just spend time with him! Take a few risks with his personal space. Desensitisation, affection, socialisation—”

“Affection?”

“—and in no time he’ll stop seeing every outstretched hand as a threat to his next meal or an incoming attack. Give him some human contact, Kurosaki-san! It’s all I ask.”

The whole bizarre thing felt like a huge trap. A spike-filled pit of bad decisions just waiting for him to step out into the abyss of Urahara’s dumb bastard ideas. All he had to do was try once and fail, though. Urahara couldn’t begrudge him a massive failure, right?

“What happens if I refuse?” Ichigo asked suspiciously. Urahara hesitated.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. You never refuse.”

“I do! I refuse all the time!”

“Oh, that’s just playing hard to get.” The dismissive handwave was the last straw. Ichigo leapt over the table and crashed right into the crafty shopkeeper, sending single-wrapped candy hearts and marshmallow rabbits flying everywhere. Ichigo ended up straddling Urahara’s rumpled waist, one hand on his chest and his other fist hauled back. Urahara looked thrilled. “What mixed signals you’re sending! But Kurosaki-san, I’m married to my work.”

“You’re gonna be married to my _fist—_ ” Ichigo said hotly, and a small kumon opened right beside him, heralding Grimmjow’s return at the worst possible time. The garganta vanished from view with a clenching bite, leaving one arrancar glaring at them both like they owed him money. For his part, Ichigo glared straight down at Urahara. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did you plan this?”

“I have never executed a single plan in my life.” Hands settled on Ichigo’s hips as Urahara smiled up from the floor. “Good afternoon, Grimmjow! You’ve interrupted a tryst! A tryst is where two consenting adults—” The cocked fist became an actual fist meeting an actual jaw. “Ouch.”

Grimmjow was staring down at them with an expression of controlled disgust. He was also very discreetly examining the place where Ichigo’s ass met Urahara’s stomach. Ichigo scrambled off in a hurry, feeling soiled. His fist was sore. All that effort just because Grimmjow was being a jerk. Couldn’t they just kick him out? Lock the door?

“I’m using the training bunker,” Grimmjow said flatly, without any other greeting or explanation. “Kurosaki, come and let me beat the shit out of you.”

“Good idea!” Urahara sprang up like a demented jack in the box, scooping up all the candy that had gone flying out of the bag. “Go and hone your skills, Kurosaki-san, while I replace the order you so carelessly dropped on the floor.”

“What!? You’re the one—” Ichigo broke off as a hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up to his feet. Urahara’s merry gaze sharpened with satisfaction as Grimmjow started bodily pulling him towards the hallway. “Hey, I need to get out of my body first! I’ll explode like a dropped watermelon otherwise.” The controlling hand on his shoulder flexed with indecision. Absently, Ichigo noted the warmth soaking through his t-shirt at the contact. Was he hot from doing something?

Grimmjow’s mouth flattened. “I’m gonna gut you if you try to run away.”

“Look, just give me five minutes,” Ichigo said, exasperated with the whole thing. He could use a fight anyway; he just hoped Grimmjow didn’t actively try to end his life during it. “I’ll meet you down there. Promise.” When he didn’t relent in the slightest, Ichigo threw his hands up. “Or stand here and watch me the whole time like a creepy asshole, I don’t care.”

Knocking the hand away, Ichigo stomped into the back room where the bunker’s hatch was fixed in the floor, reaching into his back pocket for his wooden battle pass. It ruined the shape of his ass, but as Karin liked to viciously tell him all the time, he didn’t actually have one.

“What was going on with you and Kisuke?” Grimmjow asked guardedly after Ichigo transformed, catching his own body and dragging it into the corner of the room. His eyes were scanning across the movements like he was committing something to memory. “He up to something again?”

“He’s always up to something.” Ichigo grabbed the hatch and hauled it up, half-bending to do it. On his back, Zangetsu’s tip hit the opposite wall and jostled him forward, making his stomach lurch for a moment as he stared down the long drop to the bottom of the bunker. It was pure reflex to grab the nearest anchor for safety, which happened to be Grimmjow’s bony wrist. He immediately made a horrible sound and shook him free. Ichigo refused to apologise. Besides, the brief action pinged a sudden thought: would he have attacked someone else for doing that?

Damn Urahara and his stupid planted seeds of thought, Ichigo thought, dismissing the whole thing. Talk about playing into his weird grabby hands.

“C’mon, let’s go down. Maybe I’ll tell you what he’s planning after I kick your ass.” Naturally, Grimmjow only snorted.

“Like to see you try.”

They actually did have a pretty enjoyable fight. The thing about Grimmjow was that while he was generally kind of unpleasant to everyone, he never actually seemed to be in a bad mood underneath it. Ichigo had seen it before, the kind of baseline disgust that was really just the oil sitting above a clear pool of thoughts. When he was in the middle of a battle, all of it bled away, revealing pure animal enjoyment. Excitement, even. Again, Ichigo couldn’t help but wonder if it was something Grimmjow showed everyone. Maybe he was well-placed to take some physical risks. They’d just touched twice, after all, and not a single bruise or injury resulted from it. Maybe he could try something dangerously risky. At least if he got bitten Urahara would heal it, unless Grimmjow was venomous or something.

“What the hell are you thinking about?” Grimmjow growled toward the end of their battle, just as the sweat pouring down Ichigo’s face started to sting his eyes. “Your head isn’t in the game.”

“I was just wondering if you had venom. Because of the fangs, you know.”

“I’m not a snake, dickhead. Thought you’d gone to an actual school.” In full resurreccion, Grimmjow’s tail whipped around dangerously. His black claws glinted under the artificial sun like glass. Ichigo only shrugged.

“You have a hole right through the middle of your spine, so don’t talk to me about correct anatomy. Maybe you’re a cat-snake. My friend’s zanpakutou is a giant snake-monkey combo. I’m just saying, it’s possible.”

“You want me to bite you? I’ll fucking bite you.” Grimmjow took a quick step forward. With his elongated paw-shaped feet, it looked adorably dainty and Ichigo would die before he ever mentioned it. “One chunk out of your jugular should solve it, yeah?”

Ichigo grinned and lifted his sword. “If you can get that close.”

That little jab sent their sparring match into a brutal overtime session, during which it was pretty hard for a while to dodge all of Grimmjow’s lightning-fast swipes with his claws. They glowed blue sometimes, which was all the notice Ichigo got before he fired off some really sudden desgarron blades. At some point, that had stopped being his ultimate attack and was just a part of his normal repertoire. It made Ichigo wonder if maybe there was an even stronger ability that he was hiding up his armoured sleeve.

As usual though, they were too evenly matched to do more than exhaust each other, with neither being able to land a decisive blow. Grimmjow bitched every time that there were no stakes in those matches and that’s why they could never finish it properly, but Ichigo was quietly relieved it ended like that each time. It meant they’d always have another fight in their future.

“I actually feel pretty good,” Ichigo panted, swinging Zangetsu onto his back and brushing off his shoulder armour. He was covered in the fine dirt they’d stirred up between themselves. He smiled at Grimmjow. “Thanks for the workout. Are you staying long this time?”

“Maybe,” Grimmjow replied, combing through the thick length of his blue hair with his claws. He didn’t look happy or unhappy about it. “Tell me what Kisuke was doing when I showed up.”

“Trying to convince me to agree to his latest dumb plan,” Ichigo said, shrugging. “He thinks you’re too wild to live near humans or something, but I know it’s bullshit. He wanted me to hang out with you until you don’t hate people touching you, I guess?” Horror crossed Grimmjow’s face.

“He wants you to touch me?”

Ichigo immediately flinched. “Not like—not in a perverted way! And I’m not doing it, anyway. It’s creepy.”

“Now I’m creepy? Fuck you, I’m not the one making back-room deals with Kisuke to touch people against their will.”

Ichigo silently groaned. Oh god, he was determined to take everything the wrong way. Maybe he was a dipshit, after all. Some of his thoughts must have been reflected on his face because Grimmjow bristled angrily, his shoulders hunching up a little like hackles. His expression was desperately annoyed. Then his face changed completely.

“All right, then.” With effort, he spread his hands alongside his armour-plated body, a grimace revealing the sharp edges of his teeth. “Do it. Touch me.”

Ichigo didn’t mean to recoil as hard as he did. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he took a sharp step back, or why he tucked his hands behind himself. There had been a small, deep flash of instinctive panic at the sudden permission. Maybe it was just a dare. Or a trap. Probably a trap.

But Grimmjow saw his reaction and took his own step back, his eyes startled. His long claws clacked in the silence as they withdrew into fists. A strange guilt flared hot in Ichigo’s cheeks. For a moment, neither of them looked at each other.

“Hey, I—”

“Fuckin’ forget it,” Grimmjow sneered. There was too much anger in the words. “Not like I was really gonna let you. Just testing how stupid you were. Guess you passed.” There was no casual dismissal in his tone. If anything, there was a kind of bitterness that made something in Ichigo’s chest shrivel up like a raisin. He had an awful suspicion he knew exactly what that something was. Ignoring him entirely, Grimmjow flicked out his hair and worked one stiff shoulder like absolutely nothing had just happened there. The corner of his lip was bitten in a painful tug of fragile skin.

Oh shit, Ichigo realised in a sick rush. He’d hurt Grimmjow’s feelings.

“I’ll touch you,” Ichigo said in a tangled hurry, almost tripping on his words. “I just—I mean—I thought you’d hit me. Or take it the wrong way. Or think I was doing it for Urahara. Or that I was being creepy.” When Grimmjow just stared at him in shocked and frozen silence, Ichigo just straight-up went for it. “Can I touch your feet?”

“ _Fuck_ no.” Grimmjow looked revolted. Ichigo’s head combusted on the spot.

“No, I mean your paws. Hands! Hands. I want to touch your hands.”

“No!”

“Just fucking let me!”

“You don’t even want to!”

“I changed my mind!” Ichigo bellowed. “Now give me your fucking hands!”

Storming forward before Grimmjow could do anything more than gape at him, Ichigo grabbed his slack right hand with both of his own, pulling it up until he could look at the palm. He was going to touch Grimmjow. He was going to touch the shit out of him. There would never be anyone who would touch Grimmjow as well as he was about to—

Ichigo blinked down at the soft, cushiony black pillow that looked back at him.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, his shoulders slowly falling out of tense lines. His eyes felt too wide. “They _are_ paws.”

In his released form, Grimmjow’s hands were black and furred with a coat of short, fine velvet. Ichigo knew this from past personal experience, because he’d grabbed them once or twice during battle. They were a little fuzzy, but mostly clawed and terrifying. But he’d never paid attention to his palms.

They.

Had.

 _Toe beans_.

They were right there: plush, soft little black beans on the end of every fingertip, with an enormous cushiony palm that looked so delicate and perfect that Ichigo felt his inner waters do some kind of bubbling fountain of delight just seeing it. It was fatally adorable. Grimmjow was going to kill him just for seeing the forbidden beans. Maybe it would even be worth it.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow snarled softly, but he sounded nothing like his usual self. His eyes were outraged. Belatedly, he tried to prise Ichigo’s head back, pushing him away from the sight in the least effective way possible. Ichigo had the advantage!

“The big, scary arrancar has pawsies,” Ichigo breathed, delighted. With no self-preservation instinct whatsoever and no thought for Urahara’s dumb idea, he extended one finger and pressed it right into the delicate centre of Grimmjow’s shiny black palm. It felt softer than anything Ichigo had ever touched in his life. How did he keep it so supple? God, he wanted to put his cheek against it. Could he put his cheek against it? Delicately he bounced it again, watching the skin dimple and return to normal. Ichigo’s entire body felt warm.

“I’ll rip your arms off,” Grimmjow seethed, standing entirely still and doing nothing whatsoever to stop Ichigo’s inspection. “Kurosaki! Are you listening?”

“I’m totally listening,” Ichigo replied dazedly, and tilted his head very much to one side, turning his cheek down toward the alluring cushion of his paw pads. He bet it would feel like falling into the bosom of an angel. An angry, murderous angel. There was probably a word for those. Blissfully, Ichigo sank his cheek down until it hit home.

Approximately ten whole seconds later, Grimmjow hit critical mass and freaked the fuck out.

Bleeding profusely from his face in several clawed areas, Ichigo blissfully counted it as a victory in his books. Some injuries were medals of honour, right? They weren’t even that deep!

“Worth it,” Ichigo told himself softly, hearing Grimmjow stalking away raging to himself. “Hey, do you want to make this a thing? It’ll be educational!”

“Fuck off!”

Inspired by that small interaction, bleeding and tasting copper on his own lips, Ichigo brightened considerably. Grimmjow had only clawed him when he took too long to stop touching. Was that the key? Short bursts. Exposure therapy.

Affection.

To pin him down, Ichigo couldn’t really say why he was suddenly invested in Grimmjow’s socialisation. He wasn’t a feral cat, really. He was just angry, fighty and didn’t want people anywhere near him. But he also…kind of did, if earlier had been an indication. It fascinated Ichigo to think he might be one of the very few people who could push Grimmjow a little and not be immediately pushed back—or bitten, in Tessai’s case. Did he have some kind of free pass?

In order to touch those paws again, Ichigo was absolutely going to find out.

If Grimmjow was a little touch-starved, then Ichigo was going to feed him until he was absolutely _brimming_ with physical affection.

That was a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so weak for touch-starved Grimmjow. Liv, thank you for inadvertently breathing some life into my dried out bones 🥰


End file.
